


Time After Time (Mark My Demise)

by demxcracy



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: 1930s, 1940s, Artist Steve Rogers, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Captain America: The First Avenger, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, I promise, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Physical Abuse, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Stucky - Freeform, The Avengers - Freeform, Torture, bucky barnes goes through a lot, but still there's so much pain, please give this a chance, steve and bucky love each other but think it's friendship, there's a lot of feels and pain, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-14 07:35:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14765330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demxcracy/pseuds/demxcracy
Summary: So much depends upon a blonde boy who's ocean blue eyes hold the weight of the world's love and gentleness; all reserved for a charming boy who hated his name up until his best friend declared him a different one.Purpose, trust, loyalty, and love are things James "Bucky" Barnes knew of when he met Steve "I-can-do-this-all-day" Rogers. Together, they grew.The 1930s-1940s condemned a man for holding another man's hand, but never for shooting him. As a consequence, Bucky and Steve were inclined to reserve all romantic feelings. However, a dimly lit room was always an escape; they promised each other to stay.In comes the war, the scientific miracle of turning Steve into America's hero, and the curse of losing one another. Steve survives it all, but his best friend and heart don't—at least, he thinks so.Bucky Barnes stands right in front of the blonde with ocean eyes who declares his name seventy years later; and yet:"Who the hell is Bucky?"





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> i've been meaning to write a stucky fic for some time now, so here it is! i hope you guys enjoy this. i'm aiming for a slow build with this, so it's probably gonna be long. you can always leave me suggestions and ideas. trigger warnings will be added whenever a sensitive topic is handled in this fic. hope you guys enjoy this!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been meaning to write a stucky fic for some time now, so here it is! i hope you guys enjoy this. i'm aiming for a slow build with this, so it's probably gonna be long. you can always leave me suggestions and ideas. trigger warnings will be added whenever a sensitive topic is handled in this fic. hope you guys enjoy this!!

There were quite a few things thirteen year old James hoped to change. The idea of change brought him solace—or rather, the concept of being in perfect control of his self and life to allow a change. Perhaps that’s why he finds himself upset at the world for bringing about a change he didn’t appreciate nor control: _war._

He knew what war is: it’s what killed his father. He hated it, naively suggested “why can’t we just quit picking on one another?”, and hoped he’d not see what his father saw.

James sighed as he lied down on his squeaky bed—another thing he hopes to change. His mother is too poor to afford him a new bed, however. He could help with that. He’ll work at the bakery nearby starting next week. He knows he wouldn’t be making much money, but he could save up.

 

“James, you dewdropper,” his mother called from the kitchen. “Why don’tcha’ help me with something?”

 

“Comin’, ma!” 

 

 _James_ —his name—another thing he felt needed to change. He didn’t necessarily hate it, he just felt that it doesn’t fit. He had asked his mother if he could possibly change it once upon a dinner. “It just don’t sound right, ma.”

 

“Tell it to Sweeney,” his mother had said. “James sounds like berries.”

 

His mother was a simple woman who, despite the extravagant way of living everyone invested in, was delighted by the simplest of things. Soup with her son was one of them.

Furthermore, her pale, blue eyes sparkled with joy whenever her son would converse fluently in Romanian rather than english. She never forced him to learn the language and James knew why. His mother was worried that his foreign tongue would be condemned by the english speaking, difference-loathing Americans.

 

“Do they bother you at school?” she would ask whenever her son denoted a negative emotion.

 

“No,” and that was the _problem_. No one bothers to befriend him unless they want a player for some game and he doesn’t quiet know why. _Maybe it’s because I don’t celebrate Christmas,_ he thought. “They don’t bother.”

 

He had soup with his mother, made fun of their neighbor’s cat, and went to sleep. His life was simple and devoid of drama.

 

 _“Routine is lethal, son,”_ his father told him while he breathed. _“I fear you’d be forced to live it.”_

 

Tomorrow, he’ll go to school, come back home to his mother, have soup, and fall asleep on his squeaky bed.

Tonight, he closes his eyes with the hope that he’ll live long enough to see the better future and it wouldn’t be so lonely nor lethal.

When the sleep is off his body the next morning, he wakes up grumpy and tired. He never shows it, though. Something about how he should radiate a positive energy to his surroundings that keeps the kindness settled in his pale blue eyes and heart.He had his breakfast, walked to school, impressed his maths teacher yet again, played marbles with some kids, and took off when the day was over.

The streets of Brooklyn are always busy and hustling with people seeking a way to live despite the gloomy Tuesday. Walking through them always tingled James’ senses. He could smell bakeries, the fresh apples, the cigarettes, the booze, and the ink from newspaper stands. His ears could hear it all too.

 

_“Fresh bagels only, coppers.”_

 

_“Babe Ruth hits home run! Read all about it!”_

 

 _“Ye’ got a gasper?_ ”

 

However, none of it could tune out the faint grunts he could hear more clearly if he just walked to the back of an alley. He stops dead in his tracks. His goodness is telling him _to_ know what’s it about. Perhaps he could help.His mother’s voice in his head tells him _“don’t take any wooden nickles, James. Go chase yourself!”_

His goodness moves his feet to either a moment he’d be proud of, or regretful over.

 

“Ye’ just ain’t givin’ up, ha? Won’tcha’ stay down?” a guy about as old as James himself said loudly and out of breath. James couldn’t help but look at the scene from behind the pile of garbage a few steps away.

 

A blonde, skinny kid who looks a bit younger and smaller comes into view as he leans into a wall for support while standing up. The kid looks awfully familiar to James. Perhaps he’s seen him before, though the cuts and bruises on his pale face make it hard to know.

 

“I-I can do this a-all day,” the blonde stutters and James smiles. _Such courage,_ he thinks.

 

Before the big guy could land another punch, James’ hands grip the guy’s wrist from behind.

 

“Why don’tcha’ leave him alone, big guy?” James says confidently.

 

He deflects a punch, kicks the guy, and tells him to quit it. The guy leaves, but makes sure he sends the skinny kid an angered look. James turned to check on the bruised, grunting kid.

 

“Thanks.” the blonde said politely and smiled weakly.

 

“Hey, it’s no problem, pal,” James smiled back. “You look familiar.”

 

“I believe we go to the same school,” The blonde paused to cough and breathe. “I’m Steve. Rogers. Steve Rogers.”

 

“I’m James Barnes. You live across from me, I think. My ma and your ma have talked before about the loud dog. Y’know, old Larry’s dog?”

 

Steve took a few seconds to recall. “Oh, yeah. Your mom’s name is Winifred. You’re Romanian, right?”

 

“I was born here,” James replies nonchalantly. “But I could speak in my mother’s tongue.”

 

James wraps his arm around Steve’s shoulder to steady him as they walk out of the alley.

“I’m patchin’ you up at my house. Ma will talk to your ma about it. Don’t worry. We’ll feed you soup.” James beamed at the little guy.He felt good inside. He stood up for the little guy and something told him that this was the start of a great friendship. At least, he wanted it to be a great friendship. 

 

“Thanks, pal. You’re kind.”

 

On a lovely afternoon, two boys walked the streets of Brooklyn. They got to joke around, know each other better, and share a comfortable silence. That day, James did patch Steve up. His mother welcomed the twelve year old in her house and informed his mother that he’s staying over for dinner.

 

“Don’t worry about him, Sarah,” she had told her. “They’ll be good friends.”

 

No one had to worry ever since. The boys had each other and they grew up together.

Seventeen year old James dropped out of high school. However, he walked sixteen year old Steve to school every morning, they shared food even when there was not much of it, stood up for each other, and were inseparable. 

 James learnt that Steve loves art. With just scraps of paper and a pencil, Steve was able to create masterpieces that James would drop his jaw over. James, on the other hand, didn’t have a talent to show off. But somehow, Steve would look at him with so much admiration held in his ocean blue eyes.

 

“There’s so much to admire about you, James. Quit bumping gums.” He told James after his _I’m-not-good-at-anything-and-shouldn’t-be-complimented_ rant.

 

James scoffed. Steve attempted to glare at him.

 

“I’m serious. Quit it, James.”

 

James sighed as he lied down on Steve’s squeaky bed. He could hear the scratch of pencil against paper, smell the bread he and Steve’s mother had baked together using the secret recipe of the bakery he worked at, and stared at the ceiling as the afternoon lit the small room. “Y’know, I’ve always felt like James don’t fit me. Like it’s not my name.”

 

The scratching paused for a moment. “What would you like your name to be, then?”

 

“I don’t know.” James turned his head to look at Steve who had his head turned to look at James over his shoulder.

 

“James Buchanan Barnes.” Steve said to himself as he looked at the window he and his best friend broke a few years ago.

 

However, the brunette’s full name rolled off Steve’s tongue like he was saying it for the first time. _Who was James Buchanan Barnes?_

Steve answered with: _the charming boy who he can’t imagine ever getting old._ Something about him that was sinister and innocent all at once that can’t get old—like he’s born to be forever young.

 

 _“Bucky.”_ Steve found himself whispering to himself—just to test it. He looked back to his best friend and declared it.

 

“Bucky,” the brunette tried.

 

It sounded like everything he wanted to be for some time now. Something about it that had him smile like an idiot and nod in approval.

 

“Bucky Buchanan Barnes. Sounds like berries, Stevie.”

 

Steve smiled to himself as he turned around and retreated giving his sketchbook attention.

 

“Sounds like berries to me too, Bucky.”

 

Everyone loved the new name. Bucky himself seemed to love it so much. He tried to be subtle over his delight, but couldn’t.

 

“Best part is that you chose it,” he told Steve. “I hate when people choose or decide things for me. You’re pretty special, Stevie.”

 

And the God Bucky wasn’t so sure he believed in knew it was true.

Bucky has never opened up to someone as much as he did with Steve. Whenever they were around each other, which was the majority of the time, Bucky’s muscles would relax. His body would feel light and his heart would feel full.

_It scared him._

Perhaps he might scare his best friend away. Perhaps he wouldn’t be able _to be_ when his best friend would not be around for longer than his job shifts or school hours. How would he be like if Steve found a better friend? How would he bear it if Steve decided to leave him?

 

“Hey, Rogers?” He decided to say as they roamed the streets on a cold night. Steve’s mom sent her son out for flour and Bucky went with him for the walk. Besides, Steve was sick. Bucky had to make sure his best friend’s weak, skinny body didn’t pass out on the way home.

 

“Yeah, Buck?”

  
  
“Under what circumstances would you leave me? Like, would you leave me for a better pal?” Bucky kept looking at the floor he was walking on. His eyes focused on Steve’s dirty boots as they took their steps.

 

“Where is this all coming from, Buck?” Steve asked as he nudged Bucky’s arm with his elbow. “Buck, you gotta talk to me, pal. Where is this coming from?”

 

Bucky hesitated before his feet came to a stop. _How does he tell him he fears his absence? How does he ask him to never leave him alone?_

Steve was patiently waiting for his best friend to answer. He was aware of Bucky’s insecurities despite his charm. He was aware of Bucky’s hard time at opening up despite the many pals they’ve made growing up. It hurt Steve to know that, but he figured his role is to constantly assure the charming brunette of his worth.

 

“What I’m tryin’ to say here Stevie is—I don’t know,” he sighed. “You’re my best friend. _Right, Stevie?_ ”

 

Steve nodded. “That’s right.”

 

“Well, you’re my best friend and I just—just don’t wantcha’ ever leavin’ me, Steve. You know I’ll always be here for you— _you know, right?_ ”

 

Another nod. “I do, Buck.”

 

“I just really want you always here too, Steve. That’s all.” He said as he finally lifted his head to meet Steve’s face.

 

Steve had this look on his face—a caring, yet concerned, look. It reminded Bucky of his mother. Steve’s eyes seemed to hold a gentleness that was hard not to open your heart to.

 

“Buck, pal, I’m always gonna be there for you. No matter what. Your presence makes me happy. The only circumstances that force us to stay apart are my school and your job at the bakery,” he told Bucky as a smile played on his lips. “Besides, if I leave you, who else am I going to annoy and force to clean the table after I’m done with a sketch, huh? Who will I scold for messing’ my hair with their hands _that’s covered in damn flour?_ ” 

 

Bucky grinned—all his insecurities had blown away by Steve’s words and the cold wind. “Punk.”

 

“Jerk,” Steve chuckled as Bucky playfully pouted at him. “Come on, now. We should be home soon.”

 

It took them a few minutes to find the cheapest bag of flour before heading back to Steve’s place. Bucky helped Steve’s mom bake cookies while Steve disappeared to shower. Steve’s mother was a sweet soul who treated Bucky with so much respect and love— _she treated him like family_. Bucky knew where Steve’s fine manners and gentle eyes came from. 

 

“That’s all the chocolate we got.” She frowned as she looked at the two pieces of chocolate. She figured she could chop them up into tiny pieces, but it would not make much of a difference.

 

Upon Steve’s love for chocolate, Bucky had actually put the tips from his morning shift to good use and bought a large sized bar of fine chocolate. He ran across the street to his place, got the chocolate from the cupboard, explained to his mother what he was doing and promised her he’d come back with a cookie for her, went back to Steve’s place and beamed triumphantly at Steve’s mother with the chocolate bar in his hand.

 

“How’d you get that, Bucky?”

 

“I bought it on my home from the bakery. _Steve’s favorite._ ” He tosses it on the counter before grabbing a knife to chop the chocolate in tiny pieces. The dough hugged the tiny bits. Bucky’s lips curved into a satisfied smile upon learning that the cookies would be covered in the sweet stuff.

 

While the cookies baked in the oven, Bucky could hear Steve’s coughs in the shower. “You okay in there, buddy?”

No matter how many times Steve would tell him “yeah, I’m fine,” Bucky couldn’t help but always worry about him. Steve's body was weak and skinny. While Bucky would complain about the weather being too warm, Steve would complain about it being too cold. He couldn’t help but constantly worry about the blonde and he can’t help it.

Bucky waited for Steve in his room. He couldn’t help but stare at a sketch Steve drew of an art school building. His heart ached with the knowledge that his best friend would probably never be able to afford the tuitions.

 _Scholarships are a thing,_ he thought. He reached for one of Steve’s sketchbooks and looked for the sketch Steve did of the streets of Brooklyn—an idea was paying his mind a visit. Bucky loved that sketch too much; however, Steve thought it wasn’t one of his greatest works. Upon the many details the sketch included, Bucky thought it was perfect for the idea brewing in his mind and neatly folded it so he could hide it in his pocket. 

By the time Steve was out of the shower and clad in a white shirt and pajama pants, Bucky was getting the cookies out of the oven as Steve’s mother cleaned the counter.

 

“Hi, sweetheart.” His mother greeted as soon as he stepped into the kitchen.

 

He took a seat on the kitchen table as he watched Bucky move the cookies from the tray to a jar before handing him a cookie. However, as soon as Steve had the cookie in his hand, Bucky paused to look at him with an eager look plastered on his face.

Steve raised an eyebrow before taking a bite. His eyes widened. “Extra chocolate—wait, how do we have extra chocolate around?”

 

“We don’t, sweetheart,” his mother answered. “Bucky bought a bar.”

 

Steve turned to Bucky again. “How were you able to buy that? You don’t even like chocolate.”

  
  
“True, I don’t,” he went back to moving the cookies. “But you do. And I made a few tips. I thought why not.”

 

Steve stared at Bucky as his thoughts processed the answer.

 

_He thought why not._

 

But there was so much more to that. Bucky could’ve easily used his tips to pleasure himself. Yet, he thought of Steve. _He favored Steve’s pleasure over his own._

And Steve was in complete awe.

This was just one of the few reasons Steve admired Bucky—how incredibly selfless the brunette is. He thought back to Bucky’s question.

 

_Under what circumstances would you leave me?_

 

Steve had already answered him then. But as Steve took yet another bite of his cookie, watching his mother ruffle Bucky’s hair as he held her a _"nearly perfect circle"_ cookie, he realized his answer should’ve been different. It should’ve been a hug that would have faded away the brunette’s doubts until his face glowed like children walking the pleasant streets at dusk.

On his last bite, Steve decided that there was nothing he savors quite like Bucky’s friendship— _not even chocolate._

 

 

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really don't know if this sucks or not but at least i'm writing something. also, i feel the need to remind you that this is going to be slow build.

_"What the hell, Bucky?”_ Steve almost yelled as he stared at his best friend’s left cheek—a look of horror making itself home on his face as he spoke. “What the hell happened?”

 

Bucky looked in the mirror. The bruise on his face wasn’t that bad. He knew Steve was not going to let him rest until he knew what caused it.

 

“Remember that son of a bit—“

 

_“Language!”_

 

“Jesus, Steve,” Bucky shook his head and sighed, “Ben. Ben Walter. Remember him?”

 

Steve blinked at Bucky as he tried to recall the name. “Oh—oh yeah! He did this?”

 

Of course Steve would remember him. The guy always fought Bucky at school over almost everything and made fun of him whenever he got the chance. Bucky never started anything, but whenever the guy attempted a punch, Bucky would make him regret it.

 

“He came to the bakery and as soon as he saw me he lashed out,” Bucky smirked, “and guess why.”

 

Steve’s face softened, yet the worry remained. “Why?”

 

“Apparently, his baby doll thinks so softly of me,” Bucky said in a mocking breathless tone before chuckling. “No wonder why he hated me so much.”

 

“Wait—Ruby Tucker! THE Ruby Tucker!” Steve exclaimed. His worry and softened eyes replaced with shock and wide eyes. The girl is the most popular in school and town. “You don’t even go to school anymore, and yet you still got her thinkin’ about you.”

 

“I didn’t even know about it until one of old pals who was there told me after he was out.”

 

“And what happened to him?” Steve asked with a smirk. He knew Bucky must have messed him up pretty bad.

 

“He’s missing a couple teeth.” Bucky shrugged.

 

_“Bucky!”_

  
  
“What? He had it comin’. I was ready to serve him his bagel and say _‘have a good day, sir’_ but he had to mess it all up.” Another shrug.

 

Bucky saw as Steve shook his head before smiling widely and his heart was beating fast. Bewildered by his own response, he decided to shake it off only for the left side of his face to protest by reminding him of the punch. Steve noticed, got the first aid’s kit from under Bucky’s bed, and ordered him to sit down.

If Bucky’s heart was beating fast before, it was definitely beating faster. He didn’t know if it was upon chest problems or Steve’s face being so close to his own as he dabbed something on Bucky’s face while his other hand rested on the other cheek. In an attempt to steady his heart, he stared at Steve’s eyes. This close, he could see that Steve’s eyes had glints and specks of green in them—much like the ocean.

 

“Your eyes remind me of the ocean.” Bucky mumbled.

 

“Hmm. Why’s that?” Steve’s gentle voice asked. His eyes were still focused on the work being done on the bruise.

 

“They’ve got some—green. In them. Y’know how the ocean reflects light and then there’s green. Yeah. Like the ocean.” Bucky’s voice sounded so incredibly small to his own ears. There was a lump in his throat that he couldn’t swallow down for the love of him. His heart was not steadying. _Why is it not steadying?_

 

Steve’s eyes were looking directly into Bucky’s own, the hand no longer working on his face, and his lips forming a wide smile that the sun would never dare challenge. “That’s the best compliment I have ever received.”

 

Bucky took a breath he did not realize he was holding before Steve decided to say something that would do away with the silence. “Ruby Tucker. _Man!_ How the hell did you manage to miss that?”

 

“I was too busy following you around.” Bucky smiled.

 

“And look where that got you.” Steve made a face.

 

“Being with the determined, scrawny kid who apparently _‘can do this all day.’_ I think I got pretty lucky following him.” Bucky beamed triumphantly as Steve put away what he was working with.

 

“I don’t see matters the way you see them.”

 

“That’s because you’re too short.” Bucky laughed as his best friend glared. Despite the look on his face, Steve warned the laughing boy to try not to laugh for the bruise to heal better and quicker.

 

Bucky meant it—that he’s lucky he’s following Steve around out of all people. It’s not that Ruby isn’t pretty, in fact, she’s one of the prettiest girls Bucky has ever laid eyes on. He’d just rather spend his time teasing his best friend and resting his head against the table Steve’s drawing on until the sketch was complete so he could praise the work. It confuses him that he’d rather have that over anything else in the world, but he doesn’t let himself overthink it. He’s pretty sure Steve doesn’t think like that and it relieves him, yet worries him.

 

“You still here, Buck?” Steve’s asking him and his hand is cupping the brunette’s jaw. “You must be so tired. Maybe you should quit taking extra shifts. Why do you even take them?”

 

Bucky blinked at Steve. “I’ll get back to you on that another day. For now—sleep. I need sleep.”

 

Steve nodded understandingly and pulled a blanket over Bucky’s body. Bucky’s body was incredibly warm as he started to doze off. He doesn’t exactly remember what he mumbled. Something along the lines of _“don’t leave me alone”_ or _“stay”_ to which Steve replied to with, “not going anywhere, Buck.”

Bucky’s body was giving in for the sake of sleep. He could’ve sworn the last thing he heard Steve say was “don’t sleep on the bruise, Buck” and feeling soft lips against his cheek. He could’ve sworn he felt the sun kneel before him and the soft sound of pencil against paper. However, when he woke up a few hours later, he declared it all a dream. _It was too good to be true._

It was three in the morning when the bruise on Bucky’s face woke him up. Apparently, he was sleeping on it. Despite that, he had to look for Steve. The moonlight helped Bucky see a blonde hunched over his desk in a way that implied his body gave into sleep. Bucky got up.

 

“Stevie? Come on. Wake up, ya' dewdropper.”

 

Steve, slowly but surely, woke up. He talked back to Bucky with his eyes still closed and his head still resting on his arms, “mmm. Watcha’ want?”

 

“That don’t look comfortable. Get in bed instead.”

 

Still drunk on sleep, Steve stood up lazily and landed without a thought on bed. Bucky got next to him, “Ya better not drool on me _or I swear to—_ “

 

“Shhh—‘m cold,” Steve mumbled against the brunette’s shoulder, still half asleep.

 

“Alright. Hold on—lemme just—“ Bucky kept mumbling as he adjusted to a comfortable position for their bodies to be close as possible—begging for heat to radiate, “okay, okay. I think this— _boy I swear to god—_ “

 

“Shhh.”

 

Steve adjusted his own body to a position where he laid his head on Bucky’s chest, arms lazily wrapped around the brunette’s body, and slept comfortably for the rest of the night. Bucky couldn’t say he slept so comfortably himself, but it didn’t matter. He did mutter a good night and unconsciously brushed through Steve’s hair with his fingers.

He might have also unconsciously kissed the blonde’s head. The blonde might have felt it, yet, declared it a dream. _It was too good to be true._

Steve woke up first. Upon sleeping over Bucky’s house, and upon Bucky’s mother not being around to spoil them with good food due to being out of town for a while to spend a few days at her sister’s, Steve thought it would be appreciated if he prepared something. There wasn’t much, but he managed something. 

It was always about this: managing something. At some point, it would bore them both that they have to worry about things so much and always finding a way to manage. “It isn’t fair that there are people out there who live a Gatsby life,” Steve had once ranted to Bucky, “while there are those who starve and tire themselves for survival.”

 

“Gatsby life? Oh! _The Great Gatsby!_ Wow Rogers. Already makin’ references.” Bucky said as he pointed to the cheap novel Steve bought from the local library.

 

“It’s a great book. You ought to read it, Buck. I know I already talk about it too much, but i want you to read it—yourself.”

 

Bucky did want to read it, however, he enjoyed the evident excitement in Steve’s tone as he described the characters, the imagery, the plot, and the significant symbolisms of the novel. Still, he took the book with him to the bakery to read during his breaks, and when he got back home, he’d talk to Steve all about it.

 

“I just really want people to read it and love it as much as I do. I want it to be taught in schools if possible.” Steve had said and Bucky agreed.

 

Bucky almost always agreed on anything Steve had said. And now that he had oatmeal prepared for him because that’s all Steve found appropriate to prepare, he nodded and ate.

They talked—a lot— before realizing that Steve has a school he’s gonna be late to and Bucky has an early morning shift at the bakery.

 

“Bucky! Wait— you— Buck!”

 

Bucky’s hand froze halfway through reaching for the doorknob, “What?”

 

“Wear this. It’s cold.”

 

It was one of Steve’s jackets—an oversized one. It wasn’t oversized because that was simply Steve’s style of clothing; it was oversized because it was once Steve’s father’s jacket. It was so special to the blonde and he made sure it was always clean and in good state—taking care of it as if it were living and emotional.

 

“Are you su—“

 

“Wear it,” the blonde pushed it against Bucky’s chest. “It’s really, really cold. Wear it now. I wanna see.”

 

With hesitant hands and a hesitant smile, Bucky carefully wore the warm fabric. The smile on his face no longer hesitant as Steve’s face broke into a grin that glowed like the world’s sunsets decided to combine. “Thank you.”

 

“It looks so good on you. You always look so good.” Steve said, which Bucky had to thank the cold weather for fooling the shorter guy into thinking the pink on his cheeks wasn’t due to such comment.

 

“I bet it’d look even better with melted butter and flour stains on it. Don’tcha’ think?” Bucky smirked and playfully nudged at Steve’s chest with an elbow.

 

“Bucky Buchanan Barnes don’t you dare or I swea—“

 

“I’m late! Bye!”

 

Steve shaked his head as Bucky left, but couldn’t stop himself from chuckling. A sigh of bliss escaped his lips. As he adjusted the books in his bag, he realized something quite significant: not only does he trust Bucky with his books and the only thing he has left from his father, _he trusts that boy with his life._

 

**Author's Note:**

> they're gay and in love i promise


End file.
